Trapped by Malays | Page 3

lie, sir. Only a little cracker."
"Well, out with it."
"Not enough pipeclay, sir."
"Oh, I see."
"Jigger the pipeclay! It's a regular cuss. Ah, it's you laughing now, sir.
Can I do anything else for you, sir?"
"N-n-no."
"'Cause the cook will be howling after me directly, and I don't want to
be out with him."
"No, I suppose not; but what about that bait for fishing?"
"Oh, that's all right, sir. I will be ready. But don't you think, sir, if we
was to go higher up the river we could find a better place? It don't
seem much good only ketching them there little hikong-sammylangs."
"Eikon Sambilang, Pete. Don't you know what that means?"
"That's what the niggers call them, sir. I suppose it's because it's their
name."
"Five-barbelled fish, Pete, eh?"
"Just like them, sir. Then why don't they call them barbel, sir, like we
do? I have seen lots of them ketched up Teddington way by the
gentlemen in punts--whackers, too--not poor little tiddlers like these
'ere. We ought to go right up the river in a sampan, with plenty of bait,
and try in a bit of sharp stream close to one of them deep holes."
"No good, Pete. We shouldn't do any good. Those beauties of
crocodiles clear out the holes."
"What! whacking the water, sir, with their tails? I've heerd them lots of

times. Rum place this 'ere, sir, ain't it?"
"Yes, Pete; rather a change from England. But it is very beautiful, and
I like it."
"Well, yes, sir; that's right enough. So do I like it. I often think it would
be just lovely if old Ripsy would get down with the fever. My word!
what would he be like when Dr Morley had done with him, and he
began to crawl about and use his cane to help him hobble, instead of
being so jolly handy with it in his fashion?"
"Peter Pegg, that's a nasty, revengeful way of talking."
"Is it, sir?" said the young private, giving himself a twist, as if in
recollection of a tap with the cane.
"Yes. You don't mean to tell me that you wish Sergeant Ripsy would
catch this nasty jungle fever?"
"No, sir, I don't want to tell you; but I do."
"I don't believe you, Pete. The Sergeant's a fine soldier and a brave
man, and I honestly believe that he thinks he is doing his duty."
"Oh, he's brave enough, I dare say. So are you, sir."
"Bosh!"
"So am I, sir."
"Double bosh! Turkish for nothing, Pete."
"Is it, sir? I don't care. I know when the row comes off with that there
Rajah Solomon--and there's a pretty bit of cheek, sir: him, a reg'lar
heathen, going and getting himself called by a Christian name! I should
like to give him Solomon--you'll fight with the best of them, sir. I often
think about it. You'll fight with the best of them, sir. And 'tain't brag,
Mr Archie Maine, sir--you let me see one of them beggars coming at
you with his pisoned kris or his chuck-spear, do you mean to tell me I

wouldn't let him have the bayonet? And bad soldier or no, I can do the
bayonet practice with the best of them. Old Tipsy did own to that."
"Look here, Pete; you are what the Yankees call blowing now. Let's
wait till the time comes, and then we shall see what we shall see. And
look here; don't you let me hear you call Sergeant Ripsy Tipsy again.
One of these days, mark my words, he will find out that you have
nicknamed him with a T instead of an R, and he will never forgive
you."
"Tckkk!"
"What are you laughing at, sir?"
"Oh, don't say sir, Mr Archie! There's no one near. Of course I don't
mind when anybody's by, but I couldn't help laughing. Old Patient Job
found it out long ago."
"He did?"
"Yes, sir."
"And yet you wonder that he has got what you call his knife into you!"
"Oh, I don't think that's why, sir."
"Well, I do."
"No, sir; it's his aggravating way of wanting to see a company of
human men going across the parade like a great big caterpillar or a
big bit of a machine raking up the sand."
"Never mind. Old Ripsy is a fine soldier, and I advise you not to let him
hear you."
"Pst!"
"What is it?"

"Mr Maine, sir," whispered the lad; and the subaltern's heels dropped
at once from the table upon which they had been resting, for plainly
heard through the window, in a loud, forced cough, full of importance,
came the utterance, "Errrrum! Errum!" and Private Peter Pegg's lower
jaw dropped, and his eyes, as he fixed them upon the